Or So I Thought
by coup fatal
Summary: She's waiting for a life where trust isn't an issue and a kiss isn't a weapon. A touch isn't a sin and a look doesn't deem you damned. What Rogue saw when she first meet the infamous wolverine. Set in X1. Enjoy.
1. Rogue's POV

**Disclaimer: If I owned them I sure as hell wouldn't have let Ratner direct them. **

**A/N: Well my other three stories are moving along slowly. There next chapters aren't making me eager to write so I need a break from the Romy's and the Ryro's so I'm doing a Rogan. Which I haven't done on here yet so here's this little one shot I hope you all enjoy it. Cause I had a blast writing it in my English class this morning ********. Lol. Ssshhh….don't tell her and we're all good. Lol **

Somewhere deep down in the crevices of my tattered and frozen heart I find my self wanting, wanting a life so unlike the one the one I am currently living. A life filled with a free and careless face. Not a care in the world. No pain, no way I can be used for someone's sick purpose. A life where trust isn't an issue and a kiss isn't a weapon. A touch isn't a sin and a look doesn't deem you damned.

But does being born in a world filled with hate and destitution means that I should in fact accept nothing less than that? That nothing I say or do is expectable in the means of this corrupt society?

I'm standing here leather incased booted feet in the deep frozen snow. Standing alone in the vast darkness of the Canadian wilderness, the only lights for miles on end are the neon beer signs from the grotesque looking bar just a few feet away. A bar filled with crude men and the ever constant barflies who are only out tonight because there looking for a good fuck.

If I stay perfectly still I can feel my sense picking up on my surroundings. I can smell that dreadful stench of beer and stale smoke coming from the constant opening and closing of the bar's rotting door. I can feel the rumble of the announcer's voice as he announces the beginning of the attraction to night. I can already taste the copper twinge in mouth from the blood that I know will surely come from one those said attractions.

I almost feel the dirty and sweaty flesh under my covered skin from this distance alone. Bring forth an image of almost lustful proportions and I think it's from years of keeping covered in layers of cotton and silk.

I start to walk against my own violation of course, but I could already start to feel the damp snow seeping into my pant legs. Sending involuntary shivers up my entire body as I trudge through the ever thickening snow towards the wayward looking tavern.

It's as if I am possessed by some unseen being as I make my way through the crowded bar. I watch them all as if there like ants in a glass case. Men laughing and jeering at the metal contraption in the center of the dingy room, women seemed unable to remove themselves from it. And I, like a moth to flame stare transfixed at the men. Past the chain link fencing and the billows of smoke coming from the cage groupies. I stare openly with no embarrassment at the human like creature before me.

His wild mane of hair so perfectly fixed in that animalistic point makes me quiver from the bar stool I know occupy. His remarkable bare chest heaving in all its masculine glory was like a sight for sore eyes.

I continued my evaluation with an articulate eye. One I my self probably never possessed but maybe it is just from one of the many people clambering up inside of me who does it. A willing in devour I am short to stop.

The announcer is back at the microphone the crowd is still heckling like dogs as he hushes them with his booming voice. Solidifying the atmosphere with his loud and coarse voice as the crowd awaits the next blood thirsty fight.

"….the Wolverine….," is all I can hear as I watch him take a drag from his cigar. The smoke tendrils giving him an even more animalistic quality that I have never deemed my self fit for liking, not until this moment that is.

I look on in anticipation as the other unimportant opponent enters the cage that they have so ironically put this creature of a man into. He places his cigar down onto the simple stool and throws back what I presume to be whiskey down that marvelous throat of his. But he stops and turns slowly as if he is smells the air, but it could just be a trick of the light. 

As I stare I don't even realize his hard golden eyes are staring directly at me. Like a hunter and his prey. It's unnerving to say the least but I don't remove my eye sight from his. And in that moment the cheering crowd and the stifling smoke seems to stand on end as our gaze locks in that ethereal moment.

His attention is diverted from me as the large meaty fist of his opponent strikes out and hits that scruffy face. And with a shake of that shaggy head of his the fight is on and I am forever sent to the back of his mind. Forever lost in the dark abyss of that horror filled mind of his.

Or so I think.

**A/N: Okay so how do you like that little one shot. I might turn it into more than one if I get a flood of reviews and only if I get that. Lol. Well I hope you like it. Stupid plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. Lol.**


	2. Wolverine's POV

**A/N: Okay… so I decided to add a second chapter to this story. Logan POV of his and Rogue's first encounter and this will probably ruin this one shot, but it's something I've been meaning to do for awhile now. I mean Logan's story really needs to be known.**

I knew something was different. The air had changed, a few voices had stopped, and a new scent had entered the dusty old bar. The cold, winter Canadian air licked at my sweat covered skin from the open door way as a singular person passed through it. Even with my tough exterior, Goosebumps appeared across my arms.

I took a deep draw from my cigar, allowing its smoky taste to fill up my lungs and nostrils before exhaling. Through the smoky tendrils I saw the disturbance of my constant scene. A girl no more than seventeen- eighteen years old sat timidly on one of the worn out wood bar stools. Her green coat seemed to swallow her up. The connecting hood obscured her features. I leaned closer to the fencing that covered the arena I was in. My cigar in my right hand and a shot of whiskey straight in my left, I watched her.

So innocent she was sitting there ordering water. I could feel the intent of every male in this joint. I could sense their arousal even through the sweat and grim of this bar. Each willing to be a contestant to her whiles I am sure.

I studied her as she dropped her hood and smoothed out her long chestnut hair. A black gloved hand running through the strands unawares of the dangers around her. I heard the announcer walk into the ring; his heavy foot steps never distracting me from the naive girl sitting at the bar.

"…The Wolverine," I hear him announce and I was brought back to my present situation for only for the moment.

I take another long drag of my cigar before placing it on the corner stool; I knock back my whiskey and shake my head in anticipation for the next round. But the tavern door is opened again and a fresh wave of cold Canadian air sends me a scent that is almost overwhelming to my inner animal.

I take a deep drag from the evening night air, magnolias and something I hadn't smelled in along time seems to over power the putrid flesh of man. A mixture of danger and purity has me shivering involuntarily and has the beast inside me clawing at the barriers I have spent years putting up. I find her once again in the crowd past the jeering faces of men and the wanton whores that seemed to always surround places like this. Her green eyes stand out against the poor lightening and smoky hue of this no good place and I feel my heart stop in the moment.

I stare straight at her, cocking my head to the side as I study her features. Her skin is winter white, her eyes large as the stand out like emeralds against that ivory skin. Her pink lips part only slightly as she locks on to me from across the room and she slowly begins to drag me into her. She's consuming me even from the distance between us and I feel like I am drowning in her smell, in those eyes.

I am so consumed by the sight and the smell of her that I don't even register the meaty fist that connects to my jaw until it pulls my head away from her. I try to push her out of my mind and to concentrate on the person in front of me and at the money that will be won tonight.

But I can't. She's still there lingering at the forefront of my mind, her face lodged within my memory like Madonna herself. And The Wolverine has no intentions of letting her go and neither do I.

**A/N: Well I hope I did this chapter justice. I don't think I did nearly as good a job as I had the last chapter but who knows maybe I have. We will just have to see. **


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